


maybe we're used to this

by fiveandnocents



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Marriage Proposal, like so many marriage proposals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 12:03:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16534199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveandnocents/pseuds/fiveandnocents
Summary: Admittedly, Alex might be skipping a few steps.It seems inconsequential, to need to be dating Nicky before asking him to marry him. Alex has had relationships before; passionate ones, tender ones, playful ones, but they never seemed to be everything combined. There’s everyone else, and then there’s Nicky.It will sound crazy to everyone else, he knows, but they all think he’s a little crazy, so he might as well do it anyway.





	maybe we're used to this

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in my completed works folder for the better part of 3 months now and I have no excuse for not posting it until now other than I feel weirdly shy about posting it. Cautiously tagging humor because I think I'm hilarious but who knows if anyone else does.

Alex proposes to Nicky on a Tuesday. 

They're in the locker room getting ready for morning skate, Nicky has one arm out of his shirt and Alex is kneeling in the middle of the floor, edge of his foot grazing the Capitals logo. He feels like he’s in one of those 80s Hollywood films and it makes him preen, because make no mistake, he is the heartthrob in every scenario. 

Nicky looks like he may actually murder him and Alex gets it, he does, because this is not his best showing when it comes to grand romantic gestures, but he'd taken one look at Nicky's exasperatedly fond face as André and Tom tried to convince him to invite them over for free food in the guise of family bonding time, and Alex had decided that he couldn't live one more second without Nicky knowing that Alex wanted to see all of his indulgent faces for the rest of his life. 

Nicky clearly thinks it's some kind of joke for the briefest of moments, but his ring is no joke (Alex had made sure of it when he'd picked it out three weeks ago and it has been burning a hole in his pocket ever since) even if their situation is. 

André gasps too sudden and too loud in Nicky's ear, because he may be Nicky’s favorite, but Alex has still taught him a thing or two about dramatics over the years. André grips onto Nicky's arm like some kind of maiden and says, "Papa, you didn't tell me you were dating!"

Nicky is visibly already done with this shit, rolling his eyes and ignoring the kiss Alex blows at him as he he yanks his shirt on the rest of the way. He picks up the last of his gear in no apparent rush and as he passes on his way to the ice, kicks Alex in the knee so that he wobbles. "We're not. Stand up, you fool."

—

Admittedly, Alex might be skipping a few steps. 

The thing is, Nicky has been by Alex’s side for the better part of ten years; he’s been there during their first season together when Alex still played too many minutes and Nicky had screamed himself hoarse telling him to get off the fucking ice, he’s been there for every playoff failure and every victory, and he hasn’t killed Alex yet, not even when he almost took off his own head while driving a golf cart or nearly murdered pedestrians with reckless Segway driving. He came with Alex to Russia all because Alex had asked, over and over, until Nicky had sighed indulgently and asked, “When is the next flight?” because contract or not, he was coming to Alex anyway. 

It seems inconsequential, to need to be dating Nicky before asking him to marry him. Alex has had relationships before; passionate ones, tender ones, playful ones, but they never seemed to be everything combined. There’s everyone else, and then there’s Nicky, and Alex has never been more full than when Nicky is with him. 

It will sound crazy to everyone else, he knows, but they all think he’s a little crazy, so he might as well do it anyway. 

—

Alex asks again fifteen minutes later. 

He doesn’t have the ring, because even he knows better than to bring it on the ice, and Nicky’s already seen it so it’s not like it’ll make a difference. He still kneels, because he is nothing without flair. 

André jostles Nicky from where he’s standing behind him in their shootout line, leaning around his shoulder to gape at Alex on the ice. He keeps looking between Alex and Nicky, openly baffled by what he thinks is a joke gone on too long. Alex winks at him. 

“Come on, Backy, what do you say?”

Nicky rolls his eyes and shoves Alex away by his helmet. Alex laughs, loud and booming, and falls over onto his back. Kuzy immediately comes over to spray him with ice while he’s weak and defenseless, which completely deserves the smack to his ass Alex gives him with his stick. 

Trotz blows his whistle and yells at them until they move back into some semblance of order, and Alex finds himself by Nicky again.

“You never answered me,” Alex says, leaning in close over Nicky’s shoulder. 

Nicky tilts his head back and Alex is caught by his wry smile. He wants to skate closer, feel the press of Nicky against his chest, but Nicky is skating away, puck on his stick to try to score on Holts. 

He doesn’t seem ruffled when he gets denied, just scoops up the puck and sauces it over to Alex the way he always does. 

The look he gives to Alex as he passes by is filled with something Alex can’t quite ascertain. 

People may think Alex is crazy, but the thing is, Nicky hasn’t said no. 

—

It might have just continued on like that—Alex falling to one knee in more and more ridiculous places and situations, Nicky artfully avoiding having to give any kind of response—but then Nick Sörensen visits. 

André’s been antsy for days, louder in the locker room, pushing up into Tom’s space so they can tussle, and checking his phone more often than Alex thinks is strictly necessary. It’s when he almost gets a puck to the throat that Alex has to intervene; there’s distraction, and then there’s a blatant disregard for safety, which is only acceptable when Alex is the one doing the disregarding. 

“You gonna lose your head,” Alex says, knocking André’s helmet with his stick. André flushes and looks at his skates like he’s waiting for a lecture. Sure enough, when Alex looks around he can see Nicky hovering nearby, ready to step in. Alex waves him off and Nicky huffs as he skates away. “What are you thinking about? Checking your phone a lot. Family okay?”

André rolls his eyes and kitten taps Alex’s chest. “They’re fine. It’s…” he trails off, a smile spreading slowly across his lips and Alex knows that smile, has felt it on his own face more times that he can possibly count. 

“Aw,” Alex coos, pulling André in for an affectionate headlock. “Boyfriend coming to visit? Be safe, drink water, use condoms.” He laughs at André’s embarrassed groan and only lets him go when André starts jabbing at his ribs right below his padding. “Pay more attention in practice! Can’t kiss boyfriend with a broken face!” He yells after André as he skates away, loud enough for the rest of the team to hear and start in on André too. 

Nicky sidles up to him like an especially sneaky ghost and Alex wraps an arm around his shoulder when he’s close enough. 

“It’s okay, just excited for boyfriend to visit,” Alex says, leaning down to knock their visors together. 

Nicky frowns and glances over to where Tom has André’s jersey pulled over his head. “Boyfriend, hm.” 

And Alex knows Nicky is aware of Nick Sörensen, has been for years, so this kind of protective fatherly posturing that is starting to form in Nicky’s head has no place being there. 

“Hey,” he says, grin pulling at his cheeks. 

Nicky’s eyes shift back to him, exactly the way Alex thinks they should be, and a small smile spreads across his face as though he can’t keep it in. 

“Marry me?” 

Alex thinks he’s very charming, to be perfectly honest. 

Nicky’s smile spreads, slightly coy, and he pulls out of Alex’s grip, skating to break up the scuffle on the other side of the ice. 

—

After their 5-1 loss against the Blue Jackets, Alex wants to get out, turn the irritation and slightest inklings of misery sitting under his skin into fun. 

No one shares the sentiment. When he knocks on Tom and André’s hotel door, Tom answers it with his phone pressed to his ear and Alex catches the tail end of, “...on, Mike, it’s Ovi,” before Tom opens the door. 

He can see André texting on his own bed, grinning wide at his phone when it pings, and Alex has never seen such an overwhelming amount of affection in one room before. 

“My children! Let’s go out, tell Columbus to go fuck itself!” 

Tom barely spares him a glance. He shifts his phone to his other ear and says, “I’m wiped, dude. I’m gonna stay in. André?” he asks over his shoulder. 

André doesn’t even respond, too wrapped up with whoever he’s texting and also because all of the Swedes in Alex’s life are rude and don’t respect him. 

It goes the same way for the other rooms, guys speaking to their wives or children, waving him off with a promise of next time. The Columbus nightlife isn’t exactly what Alex would call thriving, so Alex can sort of understand where they’re coming from, but he doesn’t have to accept it without a little fight. 

He saves Nicky for last, because if all else fails, Nicky will listen to him complain about how boring their teammates are until he tires himself out or Nicky reminds him that they have an early flight tomorrow. 

“Let’s go out, Backy,” he says the moment Nicky opens the door. “Everyone else is too busy with family, but not you and me.”

Nicky grimaces. He frowns at Alex until he sighs, deflating in front of Alex’s eyes, and that’s not what Alex wants at all. “Not tonight, Alex, please.” 

“What’s wrong?” Alex asks, gripping Nicky by the elbows and maneuvering his way into the room, because Nicky said it like he can’t deal with Alex tonight, and he only sounds like that under dire circumstances. 

It must be their playoff chances, because any loss can be the turning point and the Blue Jackets infuriate him on the best of days, especially when they’re so close in the standings. If they were in the Atlantic division, Alex thinks tartly, they wouldn’t have to worry at all. “No time to lose hope, Nicky. My center should never be sad,” he says earnestly and grins at the way Nicky rolls his eyes at him. “Come now, let’s watch that show about cute couple that remodels homes.” He bullies Nicky into the crook of his arm as they settle on the bed, but he’s still consciously aware that he’s only able to do so because Nicky allows it. 

He keeps up a running commentary during Fixer Upper, laughing loudly whenever the male host tries to do something ridiculous to please his wife because if anything, Alex understands this man’s intentions. Nicky pitches in every once in a while, a dry criticism that makes Alex laugh even harder because Nicky always has that effect on him. They’re both quiet when the children are on screen, adorable and in numbers that Alex approves of, and Alex doesn’t think he’s imagining the way Nicky sighs longingly before leaning further into Alex’s side. 

Nicky is relaxed against him by the time an episode is over and Alex thinks about it now, taking the ring out of his pocket and offering it to Nicky, no kneeling or gimmicks, but he remembers how defeated Nicky had looked when Alex had first knocked, and he decides maybe it’s best for another night. 

—

When Sörensen finally arrives, Alex only notices because he doesn’t see André outside of the Verizon Center for a solid week. 

Nicky’s surly about it in his normal, placid way, sending fond and concerned looks André’s way when he practically runs out of the arena after practice still half in his gear. 

Tom looks lost without him, wandering between Osh and Nisky in the room until Alex takes pity on him and takes him to lunch with him after practice. He takes Nicky too for good measure, because liney lunches are always a good idea, and Alex is not exactly pleased with how Nicky’s been more sullen without André poking and prodding into his personal space lately. 

Something in Nicky settles as they sit down to order, a subtle smile stretching across his face as Tom complains about the laundry he’s been avoiding, and it only stretches further when Tom asks for advice, like it’s a balm to Nicky’s soul to parent their younger teammates. 

It’s nice in ways that are different than they normally are when it’s the whole team. Alex thrives on being the center of attention, always has and always will, but there’s something about this— the way he can sit back for once, let the sounds of the conversation wash over him, blanketing him with their comfort and camaraderie—that is exactly what he didn’t know he needed. 

He looks between Tom and Nicky, Tom with his wide eyes, alternating between earnestly awed and snarky, but still looking as admiring of Nicky as he has since day one. And then there’s Nicky, hair curling at his nape, still damp and unbrushed from his post-practice shower, and with an open look of fondness that makes Alex’s heart do somersaults. 

Alex isn’t old, especially not old enough to have a kid Tom’s age, but he feels like he could be, like having that responsibility at this age with Nicky by his side would be simple, preferred even, and the thought should be scary, but instead it settles the somersaults into a deep, steady beat that Alex can feel to the tips of his fingers. 

Nicky pauses halfway through a sentence when he shoots Alex a quick glance, and Alex is halfway to concerned until Nicky smiles, brilliant and showing the barest hint of teeth. “What is it?” he asks, amused, and Nicky knows, he must, because Alex can feel his thoughts spelt out on his face in flashing neon lights. 

He drops his arm from where it’s stretched across the back of the booth to rest on Nicky’s broad shoulders, curls a hand around his neck, thumb pressed at the dip behind his ear and says, “Marry me? I mean it.”

He’s stuck on Nicky’s mouth, the curve of his bottom lip as his tongue darts out to wet it, and he can see it, the _yes_ on the tip of his tongue, and his chest starts to tingle the way it does right before an important game, nervous and determined. 

Nicky opens his mouth and Tom chokes on his water, spits some on the table in reflex, and knocks his glass over when he tries to dab it all up with napkins. “Sorry! Shit, sorry, go on,” he manages between hacking coughs and Alex can only watch, fascinated at how Tom made it to his twenties when he’s like this, while Nicky slides out from Alex’s grip to get more napkins. 

—

It doesn’t feel like a missed opportunity until André shows up for their game against Tampa with a ring on his finger. 

In any other circumstances, Alex might not have noticed, but he’s been proposing for the better part of three months now, so he’s admittedly more attuned to everyone’s left hand more than he should be. 

André sneaks in late, flushed and grinning, which isn’t even news at this point in Sörensen’s visit, and Alex is getting ready to mercilessly give him shit for it again, but he stops up short when he sees André gazing deliriously at his hand. At his ring. 

It’s gold, a line of some kind of blue gemstone running through the middle - blue topaz, his brain reminds him, because he’d been looking at rings with blue in them too - tellingly Swedish and objectively stunning against André’s tan skin. 

Alex is planning to bring it up, he is, but he ends up standing there, staring, until Tom plops down next to André and says, “Why the fuck are you wearing a _ring_?”

Because they’re hockey players and therefore have no general concept of personal space, André gets swarmed immediately and it’s like a media scrum, everyone clamoring for answers to the same question while André tries to hear one through the rush of sound. 

“Oh my fucking god, this isn’t just a fashion statement you’re trying out, is it?” Osh asks, squirming his way between them to pull André’s hand up to his face. 

André shakes his head, smile still making his cheeks dimple up. “I’m getting married,” he admits, mindless of the way it makes everyone go even crazier, pushing in to ruffle his hair and offer their congratulations. 

He thrives under the attention, smiling shyly like he hasn’t come in every day this week with a new, shameless hickey to show off. 

“I feel so old,” Nisky sighs right next to Alex, jolting him out of whatever daze he’d been in. He feels shaky. “Feel weird to have one of your kids get married, Backy?” 

Alex is looking at Nicky before he knows it, might’ve been keeping an eye on him the entire time really, so he sees the way Nicky’s fingers twitch around his laces, the way he’s slow to look away from where André is holding court on the other side of the room. 

“I’m happy for him,” he says, and his smile is fond, but his eyes are sad. “It's not every day you get engaged.”

“Backy…” Alex starts, ignoring the way Nisky has gone still and uncomfortable between them. 

Nicky ties the last knot on his skate a little too hard, a little too tight, and heads to ice. 

—

“Come to my room tonight.”

Alex blinks up at Nicky, sweaty and angelic after the game, and resists the urge to shove a finger in his ear to check that there’s nothing stuck in it. 

“What?”

Nicky frowns. “Come over tonight.”

“Yes. Yes, okay.” Alex is grinning, face about to split at the seams, but this is good. He’d been ready to spend days fighting his way out of the silent treatment with gifts and better proposals, one perfect proposal because that has to be the problem, Nicky wants to say yes but Alex hasn’t been good enough yet, but this is better, because Nicky doesn’t usually demand Alex’s time, even though he’ll inevitably get it when he asks, and there’s something charged in the way Nicky is asking, like the timing of this and André’s announcement isn’t a coincidence. This feels intentional and Nicky has been aware of Alex’s intentions for months now. 

“Of course,” Nicky says, raising an eyebrow at Alex before sauntering away to the showers. 

Alex watches him as he walks away, butterflies in his chest, and checks the pocket on his jacket even though he knows what’s in there. If 23 year old Nick Sörensen can do it, so can Alex. 

—

Alex may have misunderstood the situation. 

“What is he thinking?” Nicky asks the moment Alex walks into his hotel room, shushing Alex when he opens his mouth to respond. “He’s just a child. They’re both just children; they can’t make a decision like this.”

“What?” Alex asks, fingers loosening around the box in his pocket. 

“André,” Nicky says sharply and turns around to start to pace. 

It clears up exactly nothing, but he can make an educated guess. 

“Lots of guys marry their high school sweetheart,” Alex points out, making himself comfortable on Nicky’s bed. He doesn’t get riled up often, is usually the calmest person on the ice, but Alex has been around Nicky for the better part of a decade and this isn’t the first time he’s seen him slightly ruffled. The lockout stands out sharply in his mind; Nicky bitter and miserable until he’d finally given in to Alex’s wheedling and joined him, radiant and happy in Russia. 

Nicky keeps pacing. “They’re not even in the same country for over half of the year. They can’t honestly expect for this to be sustainable.”

Alex shrugs and starts rifling through the contents of the nightstand. A notepad, tissues, a pen. Boring. “They stayed together this long.” He draws a penis on the notepad and shuts the drawer. 

“That’s not a _marriage_ , Alex,” Nicky snaps, and Alex is starting to realize that this isn’t just making Nicky tense, but _angry_. 

“They knew each other for many years, Backy,” Alex says, extremely reasonable and wise in his opinion. “Grow up together, play together, love since before Burky get drafted, you know? They play their best hockey together, can’t fight that kind of chemistry. I think if Burky knows then he knows.”

Nicky’s head snaps up and his look is too assessing, too shrewd. “You did this.”

“What? Backy-“

“It’s your fault,” Nicky says and Alex is most worried about how he can’t tell what Nicky is feeling. “With your... your proposals and your ridiculous declarations like you live in some kind of dream world.”

It’s moments like these that Alex wishes he were better at English because he’s angry all of a sudden, furious at the way Nicky would speak to him like this, like Alex doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve for everyone to see, but also hurt in ways he can’t articulate in any language, much less the garbage fire that is English. 

He stands up and he doesn’t mean to loom over Nicky as he approaches but he ends up doing it anyway due to sheer size alone. “Now I’m the bad guy for loving you? Is that it?”

“You’re a stupid one! What are you going to do, Alex?” Nicky snarks, and he’s repeating Alex’s name the way he does when he’s angry, like he’s hoping it’ll drill his words in deeper and keep him from slipping into Swedish the way it’s so easy to when emotions get high. “Come with me to Sweden after the season? Split your time between me and Russia?”

“Why not?” Alex asks, indignant. His fingers twitch and he wishes desperately for a hockey stick right now, some pucks, anything for him to direct his anger. 

Nicky scowls. “Think for once! You know what everyone would think—they’d _know_ , Alex. Unmarried men at our age living together? We wouldn’t be able to keep this a secret.” 

“I don’t care!” Alex booms, and he feels like the world shakes with his breath. 

Someone slams on the wall separating their rooms and they both jump at the noise.

“Shut the fuck up!” TJ’s muffled voice bleeds through the wall and it’s sobering. He’s right, they can’t afford having any of the rookies walking by and hearing him and Nicky fighting.

Alex takes a breath and when he speaks it’s quieter, calmer, but still laced with tension that he wants gone. “I want everyone to know what you mean to me.”

Nicky is still holding himself tightly, the rage bottled up without yelling as a release anymore. “Everyone?” he asks, and the question is too loud now that they’re not screaming at each other. 

Alex hesitates for a moment, because yes, of course yes, but that’s not a decision he can make without thinking of contingency plans for everyone he cares about back home. He hesitates a moment too long and Nicky’s jaw tightens. 

“Get out.”

“Backy-“

“Get out,” he repeats, and Alex isn’t foolish enough to push him now. 

Alex wants to touch him, run a hand through his hair until the tension in his shoulders eases, but he’d sooner get his hand broken than get Nicky relaxing into his touch. He walks to the door, feeling smaller than he is when Nicky says, “And Alex?” 

He turns, a little flicker of hope rising in his chest that dies at the look on Nicky’s face. 

“Don’t ask me again.”

—

It takes him a while (three games and two bottles of vodka later) to realize that Nicky isn’t mad at _him_ , exactly, but at the situation. He’s always been in control—on the ice, with the rookies, with Alex—but this is something that he can’t fix just through hard work alone. 

He can’t change what will happen if things get out, and he’s right, it will get out eventually, and Nicky won’t ask that of him. 

It takes Alex even longer to realize that even if Alex would do it, Nicky doesn’t believe him, and that’s not something so easily fixed. 

—

Alex never asks, but he can tell that Nicky said something to André to the effect of him not approving of his engagement. 

When they get back to DC, André practically sprints to his car and Alex doesn’t think anything if it until practice the next morning. 

André is short with Nicky, snaps at him a few times in the locker room with too much vitriol to be a joke, and doesn’t invite himself over to harass Nicky the way he usually does. His ring shines on his finger like a big fuck you and that, depressingly, at least eases the ache in Alex’s chest whenever he sees his family fracturing apart at the seams because it means André is on his way to making his own. 

It’s not perfect, but he’s fine with it. 

At least until Tom shows up at his doorstep with a miserable and tear stained André in tow. He’s not wearing his ring. 

“You have vodka, right?” Tom asks before Alex can pick his jaw off the floor. André sniffs and rubs his cheek with the back of his hand and leans into the arm Tom has wrapped around him. He’s the saddest thing Alex has ever seen. 

“Yes,” Alex says, pulling André in and wrapping him up in his own hug. “Vodka fixes everything, you’ll see.”

Vodka does not fix everything. 

Three shots later and André is cradled between Alex and Tom, sobbing into Alex’s shoulder and holding onto Tom’s hand from where Tom has an arm wrapped around his waist. The dogs are restless, whining loudly, trying to smother all of them, but especially André and snuffling at his legs in the hopes to sniff out the reason of his sadness so they can get rid of it. Tom keeps glaring at him like the chaos is his fault even though they showed up at his door knowing exactly who he was. 

Alex keeps shushing him and pets his hair even though the oil and dirt from André not washing it makes him cringe. 

“What happened?” Alex asks Tom because the last time he asked André, he responded in slurred Swedish before biting his lip on another wave of sobs. 

Tom shrugs and rests his chin on André’s back. “Ni-“ Tom breaks off when André’s breath catches, “uh, the guy just said it’d be too hard. Being together when they’re so far away. Said they should cool things off for a bit. So, André threw his ring back at him and told him he could fuck off.” He’s carefully neutral, but Alex has no doubt that he’s been livid for hours, probably has called up Mike just to yell about it on André’s behalf instead of actually going to punch Nick Sörensen’s face in. 

“You deserve better anyway. He sounds like a jerk.”

André pushes out from his spot on Alex’s chest and his eyes are still shining with tears, but Alex has never seen him so angry. “He would never say that. This is all—,” he pauses, swallowing around the lump in his throat before continuing. “This is all Nicky’s fault. We were... we were happy and he...” André’s lip wobbles, so Alex pulls him back in to hide his tears. 

Tom doesn’t look surprised, so it’s not the first time André has said it, but Alex can’t quite wrap his mind around it. That Nicky would do anything to make André so actively miserable. 

“I’ll fix this,” Alex promises, pressing a kiss to André’s disgusting hair. He will, but first he has to talk to Nicky. 

—

When Nicky opens his door and sees Alex, he tries to slam it in his face, but Alex is bigger and a door has no chance of keeping him out when he wants to go in. 

“What did you say to Burky’s boy?” he asks, pushing the door far enough to slide in the gap.

Nicky looks like he’s two steps away from making Alex lose another tooth, but he still doesn’t answer. Alex is in love with him, he really is, but that doesn’t mean he’s blind to how Nicky is a stubborn bastard. 

“Two days,” Alex says. 

“What?”

“Burky staying at my place for two days. He’s crying every day. So, what did you say, Backy?”

Nicky’s frown gets deeper. “I told him it would be hard. What he did with that was his choice.”

And this is just infuriating, which Nicky normally never is to Alex because Alex is stupid with love at all times, but Alex has heard André cry for the better part of two days now and that overrides his usual blind adoration of Nicky. “What did you _say_ , Backy?” he yells, stern in the way he never likes to be. 

Nicky doesn’t back down, which doesn’t surprise Alex in the least. He takes in the defiant tilt of Nicky’s chin, the sharp glint in his eye, and the slight tremor in his hands. It’s those hands that do it, make Alex reach out and hold them lightly in his own to say, “What did you say?” softer, leaning in close. Maybe he’s always a fool for Nicky. 

Nicky doesn’t lean in, but it’s a near thing, Alex can see it in the stiff way Nicky holds himself, one step away from cracking open. “I told him it would be hard. That he needs to be sure of what he was willing to give up to be with him. That they were still young and had plenty of time.”

“True for anybody,” Alex says, squeezing Nicky’s hands. He doesn’t like the way Nicky’s looking back at him, tight and fierce, like he’s ready to fight. He keeps his eyes resolutely on the break in Alex’s nose. “You want to scare him away? He’s good to Burky. Loves him a lot, treats him right.” He’s whispering, isn’t quite sure why, but he wants Nicky close right now, can’t handle the idea of pushing him away after they’ve been apart for so long. 

“That’s not always _enough_ ,” Nicky hisses. “He can’t get hurt by this, Alex. I won’t let him.”

Clearly, Alex is too far gone for Nicky because all he feels is a wave of fondness. “Not actually his Papa,” he says. He’s here to chastise Nicky, not make eyes at him, but Alex is just a man and a hopeless one at that. 

Nicky’s mouth twitches. “Shut up.”

Something in him flutters at the glimpse of a smile on Nicky’s face, so he’s reluctant to say, “You think Burky crying in my house and cuddling all my dogs is not being hurt?”

Nicky pauses and when he speaks it’s quiet. “Better he be left now than when he’s too old and stupid to move on.”

“Nicky,” Alex whispers, stung. “I won’t leave you.”

“You will and we both know it.”

And it’s always been about this, hasn’t it? Because Alex said he wears his heart on his sleeve and that love doesn’t exclude his patriotism. 

“I won’t. Maybe… maybe Russia will change.” Nicky’s scoff lets Alex know what he thinks of that idea. “Maybe not,” Alex allows. “I love Russia, but I love you more.” He’s encouraged by the way Nicky tilts his head closer, so he wraps one arm around his waist and keeps the other tangled with Nicky’s. “I will always pick you.”

Nicky doesn’t say anything for a long time, just allows Alex to hold him and it’s almost funny, how Alex came over to fight for André’s honor and here he is professing his love again. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, rocking them. He’s a hugger, always has been and Nicky is in need of one if Alex has anything to say about it.

He wants to ask again, right now and damn the consequences because sometimes Alex’s love for Nicky can be contained but most of the time it can’t. Except. Except the crux of this whole situation is that Nicky trusts him, but not enough to not break his heart and if Alex has to prove that he can be tactful with Nicky’s love then he has to start by listening to him and respecting his wishes, even if his wishes go against everything Alex has learned about love. He can prove that he’s trustworthy, that he’ll put Nicky above anything and everything else. 

Alex stays quiet, presses a kiss to the top of Nicky’s head as he breathes deep and controlled into Alex’s shoulder, and vows to wait. 

—

Sörensen though—he doesn’t have to wait to fuck up Sörensen. 

It’s really not that hard to find him, mostly because Alex looks at André’s phone and sees about fifty texts that all end up roughly being, _please come home I’m a fucking dumbass_. 

It’s harsh, but Alex generally agrees. 

—

Apparently Sörensen is just as useless without André as André is without him, because when Alex bullies his way into André’s apartment, Sörensen is laying face down on the couch and doesn’t look like he’s moved for as long as André’s been crashing at Alex’s. 

Alex rolls his eyes. Children. 

“Time to get up.” Alex prods at Sörensen with a foot, but all Sörensen does in response is sigh despondently and bury himself further into the recesses of the couch. “Up up up,” Alex goads, tapping the back of Sörensen’s head with every word. 

Sörensen turns to glare at him, but the heat in it could barely toast a marshmallow, and he still looks like he’s on the verge of tears. “What do you want?”

“Want you to take your boyfriend back so my dogs will love me again,” Alex replies, only half-joking. 

“He doesn’t want me back.” Sörensen’s voice trembles, and Alex needs to cut that off right this second. 

“You cancel engagement. If you want him back then you fight for him. He’s not going to come back on his own.” He feels the slightest twinges of guilt at the pout on Sörensen’s face, so he adds, “He’s very stubborn. Swedish flaw, I hear.”

“I—you’re right,” Sörensen mumbles into the cushions. He shifts like he’s making his way up, but he pauses, half-raised on his elbows. His hands bunch into fists and doesn’t meet Alex’s eyes as he asks, “What if I can’t fix the biggest mistake of my life?”

Alex looks at him, this stupid, blond child, and has never related to someone so much in his life.

“Then you keep trying.”

—

It’d felt like a motivating locker room declaration, but at this rate, Alex may have just been predicting Sörensen’s future.

“Who fucking needs him?” André scoffs when Alex gently suggests that he go the fuck home, as if he weren’t currently snuggling all of Alex’s dogs and watching a Twilight marathon on Alex’s tv. Alex wouldn’t be surprised if he found a few empty ice cream cartons in his trash.

“Mmhm, doing really good here. Starting to smell like one of my dogs, haven’t smiled in days, who needs love of your life?”

André glares at him from under his pile of fur and pointedly snuggles deeper into the couch. 

Alex appreciates dramatics as much as the next guy, but André’s being just enough of a brat that he doesn’t feel guilty when he pulls Sörensen through the doorway and shoves him in André’s direction. “Fine, you don’t want to go talk? I bring him here.”

“ _Ovi_ —”

“My house, I can bring whoever I want,” Alex interrupts. He points a stern finger at the both of them; André, eyes wide as he surreptitiously tries to fix his hair, and Sörensen, looking like he’s three steps away from prostrating himself on the floor in front on Alex’s couch. “Talk.”

—

It’s almost stupid how easy it is, and when Alex peeks his head around the corner of the doorway, he has to do a double take to make sure he’s not imagining things. 

He’d been prepared for all kinds of possibilities: them defiling his couch like the uncontrollable youths they are, a stubborn and silent stare-off, even an empty room. Maybe it’s just the absurdity of it, but he hadn’t pictured them cuddled up together on his couch, _still_ monopolizing his dogs, and watching the end of Twilight. 

—

André comes into the locker room the next day wearing his ring again. 

It’s not the ring that draws stares, it’s André’s grin and the way he starts to harass Djoos like he hasn’t done for a few days.

“Glad Burky is feeling better, eh?” Carly says, and Osh sighs out an affirmative that speaks volumes about how worried he’d been. 

It strikes Alex that only him, Nicky, and Tom must’ve known anything about the break, and it makes something protective in him sit up and take notice. It’d felt like an entire lifetime to Alex, but this whole thing hadn’t spanned more than three days.

He glances at Nicky and his heart flutters at the wary, hopeful expression on his face before it shutters into concern. 

Alex isn’t going to pretend that he isn’t a Russian stereotype, so when Nicky waves André over for a conversation, he can admit to himself that he’s eavesdropping on their conversation like his life depends on it. 

“I thought he broke the engagement off,” Nicky says in English, so clearly he doesn't give a fuck about Alex listening in.

“He never wanted to,” André says. 

“But he did,” Nicky points out, “What if he does it again?”

“We’re already miserable without each other,” André says. “Why would I choose to live without him when I don’t have to?”

Nicky’s eyes flicker over to Alex’s for the briefest of seconds and Alex determinedly holds his gaze. Alex counts eight heartbeats before Nicky turns back to André, and he likes to think that it’s good luck. 

Nicky moves in closer, lowers his voice so Alex can’t blatantly eavesdrop anymore. It’s a clear enough signal, and Alex is surprised he’d even gotten away with it for as long as he had, so he finishes putting on his gear. 

As he skates out onto the ice, Alex thinks André only has part of it right. That’s fine, he’s still too young to know everything, especially everything about Nicky, who is an enigma that Alex has only figured out after ten years of loving. The only way for Nicky to take this leap and trust Alex with the rest of his heart is if Alex proves himself someone that can Nicky can rely on off the ice too. Alex had thought he had done that, and maybe it’d been his previous engagements that had caused Nicky to hesitate that last little bit, but there’s one thing Alex knows for sure. There’s no point being together if Nicky is always looking in the other direction, just so that he doesn’t have to see what he thinks is Alex inevitably walking away. If Alex wants Nicky with him, really be there, then he has to prove to Nicky that he’s a sure thing long before they’re old and gray.

—

It’s so much easier this time around. André is like a bright, shining beacon wherever he goes, and Nicky’s smiling back whenever André catches his eye. And Alex has plans—dashing, noble, and romantic plans— but Nicky’s been rearranging his plans since Alex had called Nicky’s name at the draft, so it only makes sense that this would be no different.

Sörensen is waiting for André outside of the locker room with the other WAGS (an acronym that really needs to be revisited in response to the upcoming nuptials), and maybe it’s the loss to New Jersey, or maybe it’s the irritation of an afternoon game, but Alex can see Nicky gear himself up to say something when André and Sörensen kiss right where anyone can see them. 

The thing is, they can kiss wherever they want. They’ve been playing long enough to know the potential risks, and if they’ve decided to fuck the consequences then Alex is going to support them entirely. Like a good friend and even better captain, he steers Nicky away with an arm across his shoulders and breezily ignores the glare Nicky sends his way. “Let’s go to a movie. Superhero movie is probably out.”

Nicky doesn’t snap back at him and Alex grins. He knew Nicky could never resist the allure of Marvel.

Apparently Nicky’s just in a prickly mood today, because he’s difficult and standoffish even after Alex buys him contraband Twizzlers at the theater. It probably says something about him that Alex is nothing but fond.

Alex reaches for Nicky’s hand during the middle of the movie, fully expecting Nicky to attempt to break one of his fingers for it, but instead, Nicky’s hand goes pliant and soft in his, like this is all it would have taken to get Nicky to shake off his thorns all day.

He chances a look at Nicky, but he’s placidly staring at the screen, so Alex looks at their hands, twined together on the sticky armrest.

They’re both large men and their hands are so similar that Alex wouldn’t know whose are who at first glance. But—but there’s the scar on Nicky’s thumb from where he’d burnt it on Alex’s grill last summer, and there are Nicky’s immaculate fingernails, save for the index finger where he bites at the edges when he thinks no one is looking.

Alex runs a thumb over the scar, and Nicky doesn’t gasp or anything so tellingly human, but he does shift his foot so the tips of their shoes are touching, so Alex will take it.

When Alex drives Nicky home after the movie, the words are somersaulting across his tongue trying to come out.

_Will you marry me?_

Nicky’s looking at him unevenly, like he’s expecting Alex to ask, and Alex knows without asking that if he asked now, right at this vulnerable moment, that he would be failing a test that Nicky hasn’t even told him he’s taking.

He walks Nicky to the door, because he’s a gentleman and because he selfishly doesn’t want what he’s secretly calling a date to end.

“Had a good time tonight, Backy,” Alex says, trying to come off like he’s making fun of every romantic movie they’ve ever seen, but it rolls out of his mouth tender and soft.

Alex is transfixed by the way the light from Nicky’s porch makes his hair glow while he waits for Nicky to say something. It takes a few too many beats to be normal, but that’s fine, Alex is entertained.

“I did too.”

Alex grins and the words try to rear up again, but he doesn’t want to hear no tonight, not when his relentless determination is finally starting to turn into hope again. “Good. See you at practice tomorrow.” He steps back and tries not to glance back at Nicky’s surprised, pleased face as he heads back to his car. 

“Alex,” Nicky says, quiet in the still air.

Alex whips around so fast his feet stumble, but it makes a smile appear on NIcky’s face like a secret so it’s alright. 

“Would you like to come in for dinner?”

Alex really, really would.

—

Alex can barely hear what’s going on; everything has deteriorated into this rushing white noise of euphoria, and all he can see is the gleaming silver metal of the Cup. _The fucking Stanley Cup._

_His_ Stanley Cup. 

They’re all screaming at each other; he won’t be able to hear a damn thing tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter. He forgets who he’s hugged, but that doesn’t stop him from reeling any available body into his arms. Nothing can stop him, there’s nothing to stop anymore because _they’ve won._

Finally, inevitably, he’s holding Nicky. They’re both disgusting; Alex has enough sweat on his body to fill the ice rink two times over and Nicky is no better, but he’s warm and radiant in his happiness and Alex has never wanted to kiss him more. 

He settles for nuzzling Nicky’s cheek, and if Nicky thinks they should be discreet, he doesn’t mention it, just tilts his head against Alex’s so that Alex can feel his smile. 

Alex doesn’t have all the words to describe how he feels, even though he has two languages to work with, but there’s one feeling that keeps bursting at the seams so he says, “Best moments of my life are always with you. I’ve always wanted this for you. After me, I’ll give it to you, baby,” and he grins when Nicky shoves his face into Alex’s neck to hide his flushed face. 

And then—and then Alex gets to actually _touch the Stanley Cup._

Everything comes pouring out of him in a scream and when he raises it over his head, it’s like the entire area is echoing it all back to him—their determination, their struggles, their victory. 

He turns back to his team—his fucking gorgeous, incredible team—and there’s only one person he’d ever hand the Cup to, so he shouts, “Nicky!” as loud as as many times as he can until Nicky skates out to meet him. 

They hold the Cup together over their heads, and Nicky must not realize that Alex’s is mic’d up or he doesn't give a flying fuck because he yells, “Fucking finally!” right into Alex’s face like every one of his dreams come true and Alex can’t let go. 

He takes Nicky’s lap with him, and it’s a statement—if not to the world then to Nicky—that they’re so much more than just a team, partners in the closest sense, and no one will get it. It’ll be written off as one of those incredibly sentimental, heteronormative hockey moments even though it’s so much more to Alex. He’d get down on his knee right here and now if Nicky would give him permission to, but he hasn’t, so for now Alex will ride the high of this moment, where he and Nicky are untouchable and bathed in silver together.

—

Alex drapes himself over Nicky during the parade, partly because Nicky’s holding the Cup and Alex can’t stop touching it either, but then the Cup crowd surfs away and Alex can’t let go. 

Nicky just grins at him, still drunk, and puts his hands on Alex’s forearms as Alex shouts nonsense in his ear, and Alex wants everyone to see this—how happy they make each other—so he doesn’t let go. 

—

After the alcohol, after the parties, and after the haze of success has died down to a manageable level, Alex pulls Nicky close in the shared comfort of the Verizon Center and asks, “Come to Russia with me? Until August and then I’ll go to Sweden with you.” Nicky searches his face, completely focused on him even though their team is still bustling around them to clean out their lockers for the season, and Alex can’t take it anymore, it’d taken him thirteen years to get the Stanley Cup, he knows what dedication and perseverance can do. “I don’t care who figures it out. Please.”

Nicky lets out a breath that Alex hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and whispers, “Okay.”

—

It takes three months, twelve days, and fifteen hours for Alex to propose again, and in that time, Nicky has given him a soft, pleasantly surprised look every time Alex has held himself back from asking. 

It’s when they’re in Nicky’s kitchen, back in DC where they’ve ended up spending most nights together, and Nicky gives him this _look_ over the countertop, and Alex realizes with sudden clarity that Nicky doesn’t want him to hold it back anymore.

He doesn’t know what he did to finally tip the tables in his favor (because there’d been Russia and there’d been Sweden, and there’d been the start of a whole new season and still Nicky had that hesitant look in his eye) other than be an even steadier, more stable presence in Nicky’s life, there in the morning until Nicky tells him to leave at night. And that’s just it, he realizes; Alex has proven that he won’t leave Nicky, not unless he’s asked to. 

Alex’s hands are wet from where he’d been washing carrots, but he doesn’t have time to dry them. This is his moment, finally, and just like that first morning in the locker room where Alex had gotten on a knee, he won’t let this pass him by.

“Marry me,” he says, mouth pressed against Nicky’s tangled hair. It feels right, just like every other time he’s asked, and Nicky told him not to anymore, but Nicky’s told him a lot of responsible things over the years and Alex wouldn’t be Alex if he didn’t take a shot every once in a while.

Nicky sighs against his skin, but Alex recognizes it as fond and he grins. “We’ve never even dated.”

Alex gasps, mock offended. “I take you to dinner every week! I make you come to Russia! Twice!” Nicky lets out a huff of a laugh and Alex nudges at his face so that Nicky half-heartedly bats him away. “Been dating you for years, Nicky, you just never noticed.”

“Maybe you’re just a terrible boyfriend,” Nicky sasses, and Alex may burst from how happy he is. 

He picks Nicky up and spins them, even though he ends up mostly waddling and Nicky’s toes drag across the floor. “So mean! I’ll show you! Tell everyone how much I love you, send you flowers in public, buy a street and name it after you-“

“Don’t you dare,” Nicky says, but he’s smiling as he says it. 

Alex sets him down so he can press into Nicky’s space. 

Nicky’s eyes are bright and he runs a hand through Alex’s graying hair. “You’re insane,” he says, rolling his eyes at Alex’s returning smile. 

“Maybe,” Alex allows, reaching into his pocket to pull out the box he couldn’t help but carry all this time. 

Nicky shifts, but doesn’t leave the protective circle of Alex’s arms and lifts a hand to pop the lid open. The ring feels heavier in Alex’s hands all of a sudden, like it’s suddenly not meant to be there after all the months where it feels like it’s become part of him. It feels like a good thing, Nicky pressed up against him, mouth quirked and eyes crinkled the way they do when he laughs. 

“It’s hideous,” Nicky says fondly, stroking an index finger along one of the massive sapphires interspersed between equally massive diamonds. 

He plucks it out of the clasp of velvet and Alex’s heart pounds at the look of it cradled in Nicky’s palm. His hand clenches, ruffling the fabric of Nicky’s shirt, and Nicky doesn’t even spare him a look, just twirls the ring between his fingers, almost taunting Alex with the way it slides the barest bit over the tips of his fingers. He wants to see it settled at the base of his finger, thick band snug against his skin. 

And then it’s there, right up against the knuckle of Nicky’s ring finger like Alex hasn’t been waiting for this moment for months. 

The box drops out of his hand and skitters away from them, but it’s not like the box ever mattered and holding Nicky’s hand in his, lifting it close so he can see the way the jewels sparkle and catch the light, is infinitely more important. He can feel it against his palm and it’s not even cold, matches the heat of Nicky’s skin like it’s already a part of him. 

For once he’s speechless. 

“You’ve never even kissed me,” Nicky says, and Alex wants to scoff at the idea that Nicky hasn’t been in control of their entire relationship since day one, but he settles for nuzzling in close to brush their noses together. 

“I can fix that.” His voice is shaky and he wants to do something obnoxious like wink or make kissy noises, but he _can’t_. He breathes out slowly, tangles his fingers with Nicky’s and doesn’t realize his eyes are closed until he opens them. Nicky’s looking back at him, unendingly patient, and a laugh bursts out of Alex because it’s the only way the rising tide of joy won’t overwhelm him. 

“Okay,” Nicky says, squeezing Alex’s hand once. “You kiss me, you get to marry me.”

And Alex isn’t going to let a deal like that get away from him.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](https://fiveandnocents.tumblr.com/)! I've been super absent on it since moving abroad, but I'll try my best to pick it up soon


End file.
